Congratulations, Hobbes
by Izhilzha
Summary: A new case involving Chrysalis takes on a very personal meaning for Hobbesand through him, for the rest of the Underfunded Six. This is our first collaborative fic, please R&R!
1. Teaser

Authors' note: This fic is told in the first person, but from 2 different characters' POVs. So watch for names or you might get confused! Darien's parts were written by izhilzha, Phoebe's parts by the TechnoKeeper. This may turn into a series of stories if we get a good response; also, this is our first I-Man fic posted online anywhere. PLEASE R&R! Thanks.

PG for mild violence and swearing

Spoilers: if there are any actual ones, they've made themselves invisible....

Timeline: well, obviously either pre-"Possessed" or an alternate universe

Disclamer: Sadly The Invisible Man belongs to the Sci-fi channel--may it be resurrected by some more deserving network!

CONGRATULATIONS, HOBBES

By

Izhilzha and The TechnoKeeper

Darien

An intelligent man, Sir William Steele, once talked about "the insupportable labor of doing nothing." Now, I've never found doing nothing particularly tough work, but the universe sure must think so, at least where I'm concerned. Either that, or it's just plain out to get me, which is something I've suspected for a long time....

We were in a lull between cases. That's supposed to happen on a semi-regular basis, but like so many theoretical propositions, this one doesn't tend to work out in practice. So the fact that I had actually slept in for something like 3 days in a row, had just completed a series of tests with new hair products (hey, the Keep isn't the only one who can experiment), and was in the middle of the third book of a series of--well, let's be kind and just call it "mind candy"--was little short of miraculous. It was nice not to have to go invisible, and for the first time in a long while I had gone almost a whole day without worrying about my quicksilver levels. Sure, I checked my tattoo about every hour, but it's a habit by now. Like checking your watch even though you know what time it is. 

Life was pretty decent for once. I should've known it couldn't possibly last.

I was actually waiting for my dinner to arrive. I could almost smell the teriyaki sauce already, and was passing the time trying to decide which movie I should watch that night. Both were recommendations, so it was a toss-up. _Conspiracy Theory_--which Claire, of all people, wanted me to see--and _Apocalypse Now_. Three guesses who suggested that one.

Anyway, I was staring at the covers, thinking about which kind of violence I wanted to fill my already-screwed-up brain with in the next 2 hours, when the phone rang.

I let it ring. I felt like being wickedly irresponsible. If it was Claire, then damn it, she could wait on me for a change. It'd been a while since I'd scared the Keep, and she was due for it. So I went back to contemplating Mel Gibson and Marlon Brando.

After 6 rings--wow, a persistent caller, maybe Hobbes this time--my answering machine picked up. "You've reached Darien Fawkes, master of on-the-job insanity. I'm not in, so you'll have to leave a message. If it's urgent.... that way lies madness! I'll get back to you when I can. C'est la vie." I listened to it and grinned. It was new, so if this was one of my Agency pals, he'd get a kick out of it. Not as much as I did, but still.....

And then my comfy evening came crashing down with the Keeper's voice. "Darien, are you there? Please pick up. I've got to talk to you, and it is urgent...sorry. Please, Darien, pick up the phone."

I sighed and leaned over to scoop up the receiver. "Yeah, Keep, what is it?"

I heard her relieved sigh, and then she switched into scolding mode. Just exactly what I needed right then.

"Darien, are you all right? Why didn't you pick up?"

I grimaced, rubbing a hand across eyes suddenly and prematurely tired. "'Cause I wanted to see if I could get you to call out the troops after me?" I knew exactly what was coming next, so I spoke up fast. "My quicksilver levels are fine. I still have six segments left. So what's this 'urgent' business?"

I let my gaze wander around my own apartment while she hunted for words. Hmm. Neat as a pin, even after a couple days of being seriously lived in. 

"Darien...." She actually sounded hesitant. "I know it's your vacation time, and I wouldn't call you in if it wasn't necessary, but something's come up."

"Crap," I said, very quietly. After those pleasant days, I really didn't want to go out into the field, risking my skin and sanity for someone I didn't even know. Not that I hadn't expected this, somewhere in the cynical center of my being. "What is it?"

"I can't tell you over the phone," she said, equally quiet. "Come down to work. You'll get briefed here."

There was something in her voice that bothered me, the tight control I'm used to from the Keep, but also something else. As if she couldn't believe what she wanted to tell me, or was having a hard time keeping it to herself. 

Either possibility scared me. The Keep may be closemouthed, but it takes a lot to make her nervous. "Now? It's 8 p.m.."

"Now." The single word was even quieter. I could hear the crickets outside chirping, and mentally said goodbye to my relaxing evening of good food and fantasy.

"I'll be there."

*******

The delivery car showed up just as I was about to pull out, so I paid the guy and took my dinner with me. One very small compensation for this whole situation.

Have you ever tried to eat Chinese take-out while driving a car through downtown San Diego at 8pm on a Friday night? At least four times I almost rear-ended other cars. The noise was incredible after a couple of days lounging in my apartment. People were honking at me, all the lights seemed longer than usual, and the sun was already down behind some clouds. By the time I parked outside the Agency, it was actually sprinkling, which just added to the surrealist feel of the evening. 

Not to mention that sticky rice all over the front seat of a car really does look like a maggot infestation.

I almost beat Monroe to the office--she ducked out of the ladies' room as I went by, absolutely dressed to kill. I let out my best wolf whistle. "Wow, Alex, what kind of hot date did the Fat Man call you off this time?"

She didn't even deign to glance my way. "Good evening to you too, Fawkes," and she disappeared up the stairs twice as fast as I could go with my arms full of little white boxes. 

__

Well, screw that, I thought. _She's got a right to be bitchy this time. I might as well keep up my tradition of late entrances anyway._ The halls were dim, as if the Agency itself was of my mind, thinking it was supposed to be closed.

The door to the office was faintly ajar, so I nudged it open with my butt and slouched in to find everyone staring at me. Claire looked every bit as antsy as she'd sounded on the phone. Alex was wearing (besides that very hot black dress) her patent-pending look-of-death, so I gave her a huge smile and kicked the door closed behind me. Claire winced. I shrugged, indicating my armful. 

"Need some help there, my friend?" Hobbes' lustful gaze made me suspect he hadn't gotten dinner either. I clutched my boxes a little tighter and slumped cautiously into the only empty chair--which just happened to be the closest to the Official's desk, and the most uncomfortable.

"No thanks, I'm sure I can handle it." Something damp leaked onto my shirt as I pried open one of the mouth-watering little containers. I dug in, pretending not to notice, but--as he might say--Bobby Hobbes is an observant man. And he was grinning now.

"It don't look like it to me, partner," he said.

I glared at him over a forkful of sweet'n'sour pork, but the Official distracted us by clearing his throat in that very announcitory fashion all bosses know. They must practice before the mirror all the time.... Eberts quickly joined the rest of us from the back of the room, hands full of briefing files.

"Fawkes." The Official made it sound like a threat. I'd heard that tone before.

I slowly swallowed my mouthful. "Yes?"

"I expect promptness in my agents, Fawkes; not tardiness due to overindulgence." His buggy eyes shifted from my food to my perfectly groomed hair.

"Oh really?" I shoveled in another mouthful and spoke around it. "So next time you give an 'urgent' call, shall I show up as is? In my socks and boxers?"

There was a distinctly feminine snort from behind me and I grinned to myself, but Eberts broke in disapprovingly. "Prompt and decent, Darien." He and the Official were like mirror images, exactly the same foully paternal expression. "Besides, it's impolite to eat during a briefing."

Then I did laugh. "You call me on vacation, you take what you can get." There was another burst of stifled giggling from behind me--I think it was Claire.

My little comment set Hobbes off. "Speaking of vacation, sir...."

"No!" The Official brought a fist down on his desk. "You are not getting overtime pay for this case. Eberts, hand out the dossier."

Hobbes sat back, grumbling under his breath, as Eberts passed out neatly organized files. The Fat Man got into his 'serious briefing' posture, hands clasped before him on the desk. "Agents, this is an urgent case, and you will probably be working through the night. We're looking for a missing person--you have her information in front of you."

I looked up from the first page, as startled as Alex sounded as she said, "We don't do missing-persons."

The Official sighed. "We do when Chrysalis is involved."

My hands tightened involuntarily on the file. "Aw crap."

"You said it, Fawkes," Hobbes muttered.

I went back to looking at the dossier as the Official continued his briefing.

"We've received intelligence that Chrysalis has been working with virtual reality technology, developing a potentially marketable version ostensibly for gaming, training, and therapy. The suspicion is that they are also using it in experiments with mind control. The woman we're looking for, a local high school teacher, disappeared two days ago and we believe she was taken by Chrysalis agents, possibly as a part of these experiments."

I barely heard him. The face of the woman in the file was amazing, like a painting, some gifted artist's conception of real female beauty. The hair was dark and straight, the eyes bright, the mouth curved as if she was always on the edge of a smile. For a moment I was trapped, startled by an inexplicable desire to see her moving, living form in front of me.... It took effort for me to pull my eyes away from the photo to read the rest of the information, but then her name alone momentarily broke the spell.

"Hey, Hobbes! This chick a relative of yours?" I chuckled, reading the name aloud. "'Phoebe R. Hobbes.' What's the 'R' stand for? Roberta?"

My gaze drifted back to the photo, and I didn't even realize he had failed to respond to my jibe till I heard him make a soft, hesitant sound, like nothing I'd ever heard come from my partner before. I looked up, and what I saw surprised me even more.

I've watched Hobbes in all kinds of situations, seen him afraid, shocked, angry; but this was more than any of that. This gray-faced, lost look, the still, braced posture, the eyes wide and not moving from the dossier on his lap as he spoke to Eberts. The voice too: quiet, rough, trying to hide the tremor in itself. Even Monroe quit reading and looked up when she heard that.

"Eberts, do you--do you have a copy of her birth certificate?"

Eberts gave a subdued sort of "hmph," and slid a paper out of the fat file he was still cradling. "I thought you might ask for that, Robert," he said, passing it somberly to the older agent.

For a few long seconds Hobbes just sat there. His eyes scanned the certificate again and again, mouthing one name and then another. Then he sat back in his chair and slowly looked up at the Official, who suddenly got a strange half-smile on his face.

"Congratulations, Hobbes," he said. "It's a girl."

**********

**__**

There once was a story about a man who could turn invisible. I thought it was only a story.... until it happened to me. Ok, so here's how it works. There's this stuff called quicksilver that can bend light. My brother and some scientists made it into a synthetic gland and that's where I came in.... See, I was facing life in prison and they were looking for a human experiment. So, we made a deal, they put the gland in my brain, I walk free. The operation was a success, but that's when everything started to go wrong..." 

starring:

Vincent Ventresca as Darien Fawkes

Paul Ben-Victor as Bobby Hobbes

Shannon Kenny as Claire The Keeper

Brandy Ledford as Alex Monroe 

Michael McCafferty as Albert Eberts 

Eddie Jones as The Official (Charlie)

And 

Daniele Fishel as Pheobe Hobbes

****


	2. Act 1

Darien

I don't think I've ever sat in the office when it was so quiet. I could hear the Official's watch ticking. No one moved or made a sound for what seemed like a long time. Finally I rolled my chair closer to Hobbes' and gestured at the Official. "Uh--did he say what I think he just said?"

After a second, Hobbes nodded, breaking out of the trance of the past few minutes. "Yeah." He cleared his throat and tried again. "Yeah, she's... she's my...." Words failing, he thrust the birth certificate at me.

The regulation-thick paper was stiff between my fingers. Phoebe Roberta Hobbes, the name read, in stark black letters. My eyes wandered further down: mother--Grace Joy Hobbes (maiden name McKay), father--Robert Albert Hobbes. The date of birth was almost 26 years before.

Monroe--surprise, surprise--was the one who broke in with what we all were thinking. "Hobbes, you have a daughter?"

There was a hint of accusation in her tone, and I saw my partner's back stiffen. He voice was still low as he snapped back, "Yeah," but it was also on edge. "But I thought--" He stole a glance at Eberts. "--that she was dead."

"Who's Grace Joy McKay?" I asked, the birth certificate still sitting braced and flimsy in my hands. I half expected Hobbes to ignore me, but words came spilling out of him, jerky, mechanical as puppets.

"She was...my first wife. We were married when I was 18 and less than a year later were expecting a baby. I was sent on a mission overseas and it went past her due date...." He paused, as if he couldn't remember or wasn't willing to tell the rest. "I--got back to an empty house. A note from the government said my baby girl had been stillborn, and my wife had died from complications in childbirth."

I let that sink in. Hobbes was shuffling through the file now, as much to hide his own emotions, I think, as to learn the rest of the information about this woman. His daughter. "Wow." No wonder the poor guy was upset. Man! And no wonder Claire had looked nervous. She'd probably known beforehand.

Suddenly Hobbes jerked his head up to stare at the Official again. "Sir, is Grace...?" The sharp hope in his voice was painful to hear, and I realized what it could mean if she was--

But the Fat Man shook his head. "I'm sorry," he said. "Best as we could find out, Grace did die when Phoebe was born. But the baby survived."

My eyes were drawn back down to the photo. "And she's gorgeous," I said quietly, without thinking. Now I could see a slight resemblance to Hobbes, but it was almost hidden--she looked like a rough-and-tumble angel, and that's not something I would ever expect someone to say about Hobbes.

He gave me a strange look. I shrugged. "I can't help it if you passed on the handsome look to your offspring," I told him.

"If we're done with all this...?" The Official waited a moment to be sure he had our full attention, then started giving instructions. I wanted to deck him, but that kind of thing doesn't exactly guarantee job security, even if you do have a gland in your head that makes you go invisible.

"All other information on this case, including the location of the Chrysalis testing lab, is in your folders." He pointed at me. "Fawkes, we need some detailed information about this project, and where they are holding Ms. Hobbes, before we attempt any kind of strike or rescue. You'll go in and get that for us--Agent Monroe, you'll back him up in the field, Agent Hobbes, you'll listen in on the wire Fawkes is going to wear."

Hobbes practically catapulted out of his chair. "Monroe?! Sir, I am Fawkes's partner. You can't just--"

"Yes I can," the Fat Man said firmly. "You're too close to this one, agent. Your objectivity is compromised and you might jeopardize the mission."

Hobbes was practically quivering with rage. "Sir--!"

I reached out and grabbed his arm to pull him back. "Hey. Buddy. Calm down." I frowned at the Official. "Are you sure he's not coming?"

The Fat Man frowned even harder. "Of course I'm sure. At least, no further than the van where the equipment is. And the Keeper will be going along with him."

"I'm just as cracked as Fawkes is, aren't I?" I heard Hobbes mutter to himself. "Now I need a Keeper? Huh?"

"Hey, welcome to the club," I told him lightly. He gave me a sour look. I leaned over and whispered, "I thought you'd do anything to be Kept by Claire. Now am I right?"

He half-smiled, almost laughed, but then that horrible lost look came back into his eyes, and he quietly sat down again.

The Official glanced around at us. "What are you waiting for? I want you on your way in half an hour."

Hobbes was the first to leave the room, with Alex right behind him. I was gathering up my boxes when I felt Claire's hand on my shoulder. Her other hand reached down to check my right wrist. "If you'll be quicksilvering that much, I should give you a shot before we go."

I nodded. "Can I bring my food?"

She smiled faintly, blond hair swinging loose around a tired face. "Sure."

***********

Claire bustled down to the keep, and I followed more slowly, trying to digest the news of the last few minutes--not to mention my hastily swallowed dinner. I just could not picture Hobbes as a father. A husband, sure...I'd seen how much he was still in love with his ex-wife my first year with the Agency. Apparently this was far harder on him.

In an effort to shrug out of this depressing mood, I decided I should try out my quicksilver abilities--it doesn't hurt to practice, like any good skill, and I hadn't done it for a few days. Besides, there's more to my job than the saran-wrap. A former thief never forgets the art of stealth, but it's always good to make sure of that.

So I guess it wasn't entirely by accident that I wound up eavesdropping on Hobbes and Monroe, who'd stopped just outside the equipment room. You know, I don't think I've ever told the Keeper this, but quicksilver can affect my hearing sometimes, just like my vision. Everything echoes a little, a kind of soft tingling metallic hiss--I never notice it unless I haven't quicksilvered for a while. Anyway, this wasn't exactly a friendly discussion my partners were having.

"Go play with Fawkes, if you want company!" Man, I have heard Hobbes pissed before, often, but this was on the edge. It wasn't his normal sulk at being denied a mission in favor of Monroe.

"Hobbes." Given his tone, I'd expected a full-fledged, double-sided argument, not this almost painful phrasing from our haughty five-star agent. "Look, I'm sorry. We'll get her back. I know what it's like to--"

"No, dammit, you don't! You have no idea." They'd been standing a few feet apart, not really facing each other, but Hobbes suddenly turned and grabbed her. He leaned in, face hard and fierce, hands clenching into her still-bare upper arms. "You been looking for James since he was born. You held him, you loved him...."

Alex hadn't moved a step, though that grip had to hurt. She stared straight at him. "But they still have him," she said quietly.

"At least you got to make a choice." Hobbes shoved her back and stomped away, jarring the edges of my quicksilver vision. Alex looked after him a moment, then shrugged and hurried into the equipment room, rubbing her bruised arms.

I thought about following, but there's only so much trouble a guy can handle in a day, and it would be tough enough working with them tonight without letting on I'd been spying. I slipped off silently down the corridor.

I let the quicksilver shiver off me just inside the keep. "Hey, Claire."

She was busy over something at her lab bench, and gestured behind her at the chair without looking up. "Sit down, Darien. What took you so long?"

I sprawled back in the chair, watching her movements, forking the last of my teriyaki chicken into my mouth. "Hmm....I got lost?"

Claire rolled her eyes, and brandished the syringe full of counteragent as she turned towards me. I grimaced and held out my right arm. Automatically Claire checked my tattoo before injecting me with the dark blue drug, and paused, checking it again. "Darien, what have you been doing? Were you quicksilvered the whole way down here?" Her icy tone would have broken a little kid's heart.

I gave her an innocent look. "Moi? Keep, I gotta practice sometime."

She grumbled under her breath, turning back to her counter to adjust the dosage. "Not without my permission you don't."

"All right, all right, just shoot me up and let's go." I focused at a spot on the ceiling, trying not to notice the cold sliver of pain sliding into my arm, ignoring the tingling trickle spreading out from it until Claire said, "Press here," and I bent my arm.

A habit, but not one I think I'll ever really get used to.

She started putting things away, bustling about but not saying anything. I saw her hand tremble as she put the container of counteragent back in its 'fridge compartment.

"Claire? You okay?"

It took her a moment to answer and she still didn't turn around. "Just...be careful tonight, all right? There's too much emotion involved in this whole case. I don't want...."

The Keeper sounding upset is almost as bad around here as Hobbes roughing up Alex. I unfolded myself from the chair and put a hand on her shoulder. "Hey--it'll be fine. You keep an eye on Bobby, and I'll make sure Alex doesn't take off on some personal crusade of destruction."

Her shoulder jerked under my fingers, whether a laugh or a sob I wasn't sure. That's when Hobbes came stalking into the keep, hands jammed into his pockets. For a second he simply stood and stared. "Get your shot, Fawkes?" he asked gruffly.

I reached for my jacket. "Yep." Claire went back to rearranging her equipment, and I headed for the door.

"You coming, Claire?" Hobbes asked.

"In a minute. You don't want to be caught out in the field without extra counteragent, do you?" Her voice was firm, without a trace of emotion, and Hobbes' face darkened.

He walked over and lounged against the counter where she was working, his tone as painstakingly neutral as hers. "Why didn't you tell me?'

Claire froze, turning only slightly towards him. "You may not believe me, Bobby, but I didn't know. Not until just before the briefing."

Hobbes considered this for a moment. "You're right. I don't believe you." He turned and strode out of the keep without looking back. I glanced at Claire, who still stood there motionless, and ran after him.

Several yards into the corridor I caught up--definitely avoiding stealth this time--grabbed his shoulder and swung him around. "Hey! Hobbes. What the hell was that?"

Hobbes jerked away from me. "She's been holdin' out on me. They all have." He strode off down the hall. 

I followed him towards the stairwell, the shortest route downstairs to the van, shrugging into my jacket. "That's crap, Hobbes. You know that. At least it's no worse now than it's always been." There'd been plenty of times when Claire kept secrets from me--and from Hobbes. "I don't think she knew. She sounded real upset when she called me in tonight."

Hobbes let out a snort and kept moving.

"C'mon," I prodded, still walking behind him. "I thought you loved Claire."

He stopped just outside the stairwell door. "Don't throw that back at me. An attraction, that's all it was. I loved Grace..." His voice faltered. The stare he fixed me with was intense, and so was the whisper he continued in. "I never got to see Phoebe.... And it's all because of people like the Fat Man and the Keeper, controlling me by hidin' everything."

He slammed the door open and stomped out. I could hear his footsteps crashing on the stairs. After a moment I cautiously followed, shaking my head. It was going to be one hell of a night. And for once I didn't envy Claire van duty. 

*********

There are times when I appreciate Alex's 5-star training. I doubt many other people could stand approaching an enemy base and slipping through an automatic door behind a guard while trusting her concealment entirely to someone else. And then walk as silently as the ex-thief (that would be me) holding her arm to a bend in the corridor and slink through the building looking for evidence, visible, from there. She didn't even speak till the last of the quicksilver had flaked off. 

"Don't get into too much trouble. I've got to know where you are in twenty minutes." She didn't need to pat the pocket of her dark business jacket to remind me of the counteragent Claire had given her.

I stayed invisible and drifted off towards the next corridor intersection. "No sweat. Let's get this over with and scram."

A tiny voice crackled in my right ear. "Fawkes, you guys get in okay?"  


"Chill, Hobbes," I whispered to the sensitive little mic that pressed my cheek beneath the quicksilver. "Yes. Proceeding with _silent_ reconnaissance if you don't mind. I'll be in touch."

"I'll be listening."

Alex's voice, though she was out of sight by now, slid briefly into my headphone. "I bet you will."

I grinned invisibly and kept moving.

You know, I've never been able to figure out why secret agencies like Chrysalis like to set up shop in such conspicuous places: skyscrapers, laboratories, mental hospitals. Do they think it's intimidating? Are their reputations and cover identities really that good? Or is it just easier to keep the victims under tight security that way? I've felt almost claustrophobic in the Agency at times, but at least it's small. It gives the illusion of the potential for freedom, even if deep down I know that the smallest things are often the hardest to escape from. Like that tiny needle sliding into my vein every few days; or the crystalline flakes of quicksilver that drop off my body when I'm done using the gland for the day.

Anyway, this building was no different from the usual. Tall, dark, with tinted windows that reflected everything (day or night), and marked as some kind of local computer research labs. The steady late drizzle outside only added to its confusing, eerie feeling--something I've come to associate with Chrysalis one way or another. And the interior color scheme.... All that genetic engineering must be getting to their designers. Dead gray walls, trimmed bleakly in some kind of bluish white, blank and functional and sterile. I actually unquicksilvered my eyes to make sure I was really seeing this. There were a few pictures in the room I entered first, but the deeper I went the more oppressive the surroundings became.

And the more frustrating. There were locked doors lining each corridor, mostly unmarked except for Roman numerals. I tried to keep track of where I was, and made it completely around the first level without meeting anyone or seeing Monroe. The locks refused to be picked, which was annoying, and I didn't have time to try other methods. I needed some information fast. So I found the stairs and went up a level. 

Just as I was about to ease through the door onto floor #2, something caught my eye. A rectangle or light shadow on the wall to my left, something I probably never would have seen with normal vision. A hidden opening? I tried pushing gently over the whole area. Suddenly one side widened into a crack. I swallowed, hoping no one was waiting on the other side. For a second I turned away, breathing a cautious whisper into my mic. "Alex, I've got a hidden door here in the stairwell between the first and second floors. I'm checking it out."

There was no answer as I turned to push the door further aside. It slid easily, and I stepped through into another stairwell, this one going down and barely lit. The steps were deserted, so I ventured down, and let my quicksilver covering drop. I checked my right wrist and frowned. It hadn't seemed all that long, but ten minutes will fill the first four segments. Well, hopefully I wouldn't need it down here or I could get Monroe to follow me...it was a long flight of stairs. By the time I reached the bottom, I figured I'd gone at least a floor below-ground. The double door I faced now led into a basement level. And it was locked too.

I was not in the mood to be stopped when I felt so close. I had to bring something back to the others. Had to bring something back to Hobbes. The Official was right, it was personal to him; what he didn't see was that that made it personal for me as well--for all of us.

There didn't seem to be any alarms attached to the door on this side. I slid my fingers over the handle, listening as I jiggled it. Weird-sounding lock. It looked pretty simplistic compared to the ones upstairs, and yet... maybe it was designed to keep people in, not out. I slipped a pick in, adjusted it, then twisted.

The door drifted open a few centimeters.

I pocketed the pick and slid through, heart pounding. This would be the time for an alarm to sound. But nothing seemed to be happening, and the ward-white walls down here surrounded space as silent and deserted as upstairs. Or as the Agency. An old assumption, left over from childhood maybe, danced through my brain: _aren't the bad guys supposed to work at night?_

__

Guess not. And as an added bonus, the first door I tried swung open on the first try. It looked like a series of labs and file rooms, exactly what we needed. I did a quick scan for surveillance equipment and didn't bother to quicksilver again before entering. 

As I was carefully rummaging through the first stack of files, Hobbes' voice jumped into my head. "Fawkes!"

I nearly dropped the papers. "Geez, Hobbes! Quicksilver won't hide the smell if I pee my pants."

There was a snort of laughter. "Then don't. What's takin' you so long?"

I sighed. "Absolutely nothing. I couldn't even get into any of the labs till I found these rooms at basement level. It's like a video game in here." I started flipping through more files, these hanging up near the computer as if they'd just recently been entered. "Our source was right, though. It looks like they are working on VR."

"What about...?"

"I'm not a miracle worker, Hobbes. Give me a few minutes." Oh, what was this under the mouse pad? A map? "Stand by, I might have something here." It was unmarked except for a few acronyms, but the large areas in the center looked like they could be lockups of some kind. I decided to check the rest of the rooms connected to the ones I was currently exploring before moving out, but no sooner had I stepped into the next lab than I had to quicksilver. Two white-jumpsuited figures were bent over something sealed under glass.

"It's not working," one of them said.

The other grumbled a string of curses under his breath. "I don't see why they picked this particular subject. She's even hypnosis-resistant. I don't know why they think we should test the project on her."

The first rubbed a hand across her eyes. "Well, if it works on her, it should work on just about anyone."

"Guess it should, at that." The second laughed. 

The shiver that poured over me was colder than the quicksilver. I had found something, but how to exploit it? Were they running tests right now? _Crap. I don't have more than maybe fifteen minutes before I go QSM._ Carefully I backed through the door.

"Hobbes, I've got a lead, but I'm going to have to stay quicksilvered. There are two agents running tests down here."

"Have you heard from Monroe?" His voice was tense.

"No, not for a while. Alex, you on the line? Alex? Make noise, okay?"

There was only crackling silence on the headset.

"Damn." Hobbes sounded thoroughly paranoid. "Careful, Fawkes. She may have been captured."

"Or she could just be out of range," I countered. "Calm down."

"How long can you stay see-through without losing it?" he demanded.

I let my wrist shimmer into existence again. Only 5 segments left. "Maybe ten minutes, or a few more. It'll take longer than that to get your information and get back out undetected, especially if I have to retrieve Alex." Damn, it wasn't supposed to go this way. Whatever happened to 5-star excellence?

There was a brief scuffle on the other end of the line. Claire's voice came through sharp and hard. "Darien, abort the mission. We can't afford to lose you."

From farther away, Hobbes started swearing. "Claire, you can't do this to me!"

"Calm down, Bobby. At least we know where she is. It'll be all right." The static faded slightly. "Just concentrate on getting out of there, Darien."

Far away a car door slammed. A very unladylike curse slipped from the Keeper. "Bobby! The little bastard's got my counteragent! He's going to get himself killed!"

"Hush, Keep, I've got company," I warned her, moving out towards the first door again. It eased open quickly and I was in the empty hall. Now I could go back up the stairs and try to meet up with Alex or Hobbes again, or continue the search for Phoebe. Almost without thought, I started moving the direction I thought would take me to those promising rooms I'd seen on the map. I owed at least that to my partner, if he was coming in after me.

The corridors seemed long, and all the doors looked the same in my wavering quicksilver vision. I could feel my breath coming faster, my muscles tensing with anticipatory adrenaline. How long would it be before these imaginary pains in my head were the real thing? "Hobbes, get your butt down here," I mumbled, knowing he probably couldn't hear me. I dropped my eyes for a moment to check my tattoo.

Only three segments left. I paused for a moment, indecisive. I'd hurt someone if I held on much longer. And I could tell it wasn't my imagination now--a migraine was beginning to throb at the back of my skull. All right, just one more corridor, and then I'll stop.

As I took that last step around the corner, something hit me, hard. I felt my knees give way, heard quicksilver shatter off me, saw it spin like mist against the floor, rushing up into my face....

The poet Theodore Roethke wrote a few lines which I've always loved but never understood: "I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow./ I feel my fate in what I cannot fear./ I learn by going where I have to go." The bad thing about being a quote freak is that sometimes the quote that comes into your head in a given situation really doesn't apply; the creepy thing is when it shouldn't but really does. 

I came slowly back to consciousness with that quote dancing in my brain, a dry mouth, and a steady ache at the back of my mind. It took an effort even to open my eyes, and the bleak corridor I found myself in sure wasn't worth it. I tried to swallow and sat up. What had happened? My memory seemed to have cut out on me. A mission; Chrysalis; Alex; trying to find some girl; a blow to the head? Maybe. It didn't look as if I'd been moved. Quicksilver madness? I'd passed out from the phase-two seizures before. I checked my tattoo, but it showed seven green segments left. I rubbed my eyes and looked again. Somehow I thought it should be further along than that.

Then I heard footsteps, running, and a slim form tore around the corner, skidding to a stop as she saw me. I started to get up, then stopped, staring. I remembered this face, I couldn't put a name to it, but I sure as hell remembered it. It was too beautiful to be forgotten.

She cast a nervous glance over her shoulder, making her short dark hair swing around her damp face. Then she approached me quickly. "Are you all right? You're not dressed like one of them."

"I--yes, I think so." Words suddenly failed me. I worked my dry mouth, trying to get something intelligent out. "I'm--Darien Fawkes."

She held out a small hand to help me up--she was strong. "I'm Phoebe Hobbes. Pleased to meet you."


	3. Act 2

Phoebe

A fellow named Ethan Schanzenbach once observed, "That which does not kill you is only saving you for later." Or in my case that which does not kill you will drive you insane. To say that I was currently up the river Styx without anything remotely resembling a paddle would be an accurate way to describe the situation I found myself in now. 

After much careful consideration I had come to the conclusion that I did not like these evil butterfly people. In fact I could say with all honesty that I really, truly disliked them. And I like practically everybody. 

Here I was back in the white corridor again. The kind of white that glows and hurts the eyes. I think they are trying to brainwash me. Are they ever in for a surprise. I looked down at myself and see that I'm now wearing the white jumpsuit again. I match the walls. How unspeakably delightful. 

Well, at least they didn't have me in the Alice get-up again. The whole Wonderland scenario was getting old. Then of course there was that freaky Oz thing. My irritation and disgust at the efforts of the E.B.P to warp and mutilate classic literature has pretty much overcome my terror at being kidnapped and subjected to mental torment.

I started running. If they planned on torturing me again they'd have to catch me first. And with any luck a broken ankle or a pulled hamstring would be the result of their efforts. I rounded a corner and nearly ran over someone. 

I slowed to a stop and stared. The hair was the first thing that got my attention. It was hair with attitude, hair that shouted "finger in the light socket." The next thing that I noticed were the eyes. Dark honey with flecks of gold and green. Intense eyes that knew lots about pain, eyes that didn't trust all that often. Those remarkable eyes belonged to a sharply featured, extremely handsome face.

I approached him warily. He looked shaken, confused. I could relate.

"Are you all right? You're not dressed like one of them." He really wasn't. For the last (how many?) days everybody either wore boring hospital clothing or something related to some disturbing distortion of some book or movie. He was wearing black slacks, tennies, and a dark green T-shirt that read "spy games" that clung to his lean muscular frame.

"I--yes, I think so." He said hesitantly. He was looking at me like I was the Holy Grail. It was nice in a disconcerting sort of way. . "I'm--Darien Fawkes." He continued.

Fox? Well, yes that much was obvious. Whoa! Not going there.

I held out my hand and smiled as cheerily as I could under the circumstances. "I'm Phoebe Hobbes. Pleased to meet you." I pulled him up off the floor. His hand was firm, strong and very warm to the touch.

"Phoebe Roberta Hobbes?" A huge happy little boy smile lit up his face. It was like my name made everything make sense to him. Wait, how did he know my middle name?

"I've come to rescue you!" 

I just looked at him.

"Did I just say...?" He looked terribly embarrassed.

"Aren't you a little short for a storm trooper?" I said breaking the moment of awkward silence. 

"What?" he said. Then he just rolled his eyes.

"Sorry, It just seemed so appropriate somehow." 

As he softly chuckled, it abruptly occurred to me that he, Darien Fox....

"Could you please spell your last name?"

"Huh. Um... F. A. W. K. E. S."

That he, Darien Fawkes, could be a plant from the EBF to gain my trust. So I looked at him the _other_ way. 

Oh, but did that man shine.

"Well, proceed already." I said, "The bad guys are sure to notice I'm not where they put me."

He nodded and we began to walk quickly down the long white corridor. 

"No doors. No 'freaken' doors anywhere." Darien said disgustedly. We turned yet another corner and there was a door. I moaned softly.

"Not again."

"Not what, again?" My knight in scuffed athletic shoes asked. 

"This. I know - I just know that this will lead into yet another perversion of classical literature. These EBPs have found the perfect way to torment a English/Lit teacher." I kicked the door. Hard. "Oh drat!" I squealed as I started to hop up and down. How very undignified. The door swung open. 

I looked inside and rapidly forgot that my foot hurt. I peered into the room. I could feel Darien's breath on the back of my neck as we looked.

Cautiously, we walked in. It was that famous drawing by Escher. The one with all the crazy stairs going all over. 

"This is familiar." I said my voice hushed.

Darien skirted around me, the look on his face one of disbelief as he viewed the clock that hung in midair announcing to one and all that it was almost 13:00. "You've got to be kidding," he muttered. "What the hell is going on?" 

I shrugged. "How am I supposed to know?"

I heard a click behind me and knew that the door was gone as if it never existed. A sound rung in the air; it sounded like the cry of a baby, followed by the soft rustling of feathers. I turned and my clothes changed; the bright white jumpsuit was replaced by blue jeans and a white peasant blouse. It was The Labyrinth; when I was a teenager I had loved the movie. I wondered if I still had the . Well, no time like the present to find out.

"It's show-time," I said, striding forward. I came to a stop when my arm was caught. Ah, my rescuer. I'd forgotten.

"Care to fill me in?" Darien hissed. 

"In a moment." I said distractedly. "I have a hunch."

A tall thin figure dressed in feathers emerged from the shadows. Predatory, inhuman and extremely hot. I choked on a laugh. It was Jareth the Goblin King. I shook myself free of Darien's hand and went forward. 

"Give me the child." I demanded.

And he replied, "Sarah I have been generous till now and I can be cruel."

"Generous? What have you done that is generous?" I asked in puzzlement.

"EVERYTHING! Everything that you wanted I have done. You asked that child be taken. I took him. You cowered before me and I was frightening. I have reordered time. I have turned the world upside down. AND I HAVE DONE IT ALL FOR YOU! I am exhausted from living up to your expectations. Isn't that generous?" Jareth asked softly, hope warming his voice.

But I continued without pity. "Give me the child. Through dangers untold and hardships unnumbered--"

" I ask for so little. Just fear me, love me, do as I say and I will be your slave." The dark lord pleaded,

But I continued. "--I have fought my way here to the castle beyond the Goblin City to take back the child that you have stolen, for my will is as strong as yours, and my kingdom is as great. **You have no power over me!**" I shouted triumphantly.

Jareth looked at me with sorrowful eyes as he tossed up a crystal sphere into the air. "What a pity."

There was a rush of light and sound and we weren't in the labyrinth any more but in what looked like a pillared temple.

"Now will you tell me what's going on?" Darien raised an inquisitive eyebrow. 

"I'm not sure. I mean I have a clue-no not actually a clue, more like a hunch. You see they keep putting me in these situations, simulations and at first they were kind of cheesy, parodies of books and movies. And they were more annoying than anything else. I've been Dorothy Gail and Alice in Wonderland and you know what?"

"What?" Darien asked, clearly wanting to know what I was getting at. 

"I don't think any of this is real."

"VR. That's what Chrysalis was working on. Eberts said that they were working on some kind of mind control using VR."

I couldn't help it. I hugged him. His arms were strong and warm and safe. Almost as soon as I entered his embrace I pulled away and pretended that nothing had happened.

"That would explain everything. In every scenario I have been in, the recurring theme has been temptation. It's like they want to break down my moral center. That must be the door into my head. Geez, if they could do that...anybody could be turned...made into what they want." I started to pace about excitedly. "So the way out would be to go through the story and do the right thing. Each level we beat is possibly a level closer to consciousness. Before I refused to play at all."

I did not mention what they did to me when I refused.

"Okay, if playing out the story the right way is out--but what if you don't know the story, 'cause I don't have any idea what that was back there."

"If you don't know the story then I guess that you should follow your best and noblest impulses." I strode toward the opening. "Coming?"

A door stood in the middle of the temple and as we went through I heard Darien mutter to himself, "What best and noblest impulses?"

~~~~~~*

I opened my eyes with a moan. It was like I hadn't moved my limbs for days on end. I ached all over. I could only dimly remember where I'd been. What was my name?

A man with intense, concerned dark eyes was pulling me up. I know him. His name--what is his name?

My name is Phoebe Roberta Hobbes. His name is Darien Fawkes. Welcome back reality. I have had an unreasonable number of really weird experiences in my day but this incident is way up there on my strange'o'meter. There is an old story about a poet who dreamed that he was a butterfly dreaming that he was a poet. When he awoke he couldn't decide what he was. That was the situation I was just faced with. I can see it now; my therapist jumping off of a very tall building or quite possibly getting a book deal.

As I couldn't walk he picked me up and hurried to the door. I clung to him, my face smushed close to his neck as he pushed the door open. Did he ever smell wonderful. Not going there.

The EBP in attendance looked up in shock. Apparently they hadn't expected us to beat the machine. They did not look happy about it.

I felt a chill running up my arm, a spring rain kind of chill. I gasped as we were soon covered with what seemed to be cold liquid mercury. 

"Put down the girl." Said thug #1 as he put on a pair of sunglasses and pointed a gun at us. 

"Aww crap." Darien muttered.

"Put down the gun." Replied a voice that could have belonged to "She Who Must Be Obeyed."

In a shower of glitter the two of us were visible once again. "It's about time, Monroe." My hero said in annoyance. 

The voice belonged to an exotically beautiful woman who could have easily been cast as an Amazon extra on Xena. Apparently this was Monroe. Monroe rolled her greenish eyes. "I got lost. No markings anywhere. In there." She said to the Igors-In-Training with a wave of her gun. They filed in with obvious reluctance. 

"I think I can walk now." I mentioned softly. 

"You sure?" His eyes went even darker with concern.

"Very." He lowered me to the floor. "I don't mean to be pushy or anything, but who's the pretty Klingon and what's with the H.G.Wells impersonation?"

Darien let out a snort of laughter while he helped Monroe push the desk against the door, locking in the bad guys. "The pretty Klingon is Alex Monroe and the H.G. Wells impersonation is just something I pull out for birthdays, bar mitzvahs and the rescuing of fair damsels."

"Ah, that would explain the overwhelming humility." I returned. This time Monroe laughed. 

"Fawkes, we better go. Hobbes has totally lost it." Alex said.

"No I haven't." I looked at her indignantly.

"You didn't tell her?"

"Didn't have time. There were kingdoms to save and quests and--" he trailed off at Alex's expression. "No, I didn't tell her."

"Tell me what? No, it can wait. I can hear feet. Unhappy feet. Hey look, window and great big honkin' tree. I have a wonderful idea. Let's not be here when they come."

The next few minutes were a blur what with the smashing of the window, the climbing and the running. Moments later we were zooming away in a highly unattractive van.

"Phoebe meet Claire and...." Darien began.

"Daddy?"


	4. Act 3

Darien

I couldn't begin to tell you what happened in the simulations we went through. I didn't even have time to consider how I'd gotten into the sims--it was hard enough keeping up with the changes and the stories.

The first coherent thing I remember is rolling over on a padded floor and feeling a light tug at my hair. The light was dim, but I can tell electrodes when I feel them. Damn experimental crap. I ripped them off and stumbled to my feet. There was something like an alarm pounding through my skull: where was Phoebe? Hobbes would kill me if I got so close and didn't get her out.

There was only one thing in the room with me--a gurney bed kinda like the one in the keep, complete with restraints. Phoebe was strapped down, unconscious, more electrodes and things taped to her. I started pulling them off. I knew I only had a few minutes before someone outside would see the readings drop. She flinched away from my hand, then blinked up at me, trying to focus those dark bluish eyes. In a creaky voice she muttered something about a poet who dreamed he was a butterfly and I almost laughed; that's exactly how I felt. All those crazy non-memories floating around in my head... as if it weren't messed up enough. 

The straps were tough, but I'd had a lot of practice with this type. As I unwrapped the last ones from her arms, Phoebe tried to sit up and failed. "Can't walk?" I asked. She shook her head, frowning. "Fine." I scooped her up in my arms and strode to the door. She clung to me, face pressed into my neck. It had been such a long time since any woman did that; those I know are too smart to even want to get that close to an invisible freak who might turn homicidal at a moment's notice. For a moment it reminded me of Jessica....

The door to the room was unlocked. For a secret agency, Chrysalis is sure sloppy sometimes. I kicked it open and shoved through, quicksilvering before the stunned scientists could do anything. I heard Phoebe gasp. Well, she was Hobbes' daughter. She would've found out sooner or later anyway.

I stepped softly to one side, hoping to slip out without any trouble. But one of the creeps yanked a pair of sunglasses out of a drawer, glanced around, and pulled a gun on me. "Put down the girl."

"Crap..." I whispered. Now what? I had to get away, keep the gland from Chrysalis, get Phoebe out, and something I couldn't remember was telling me I shouldn't be quicksilvered right now.

A chilling and welcome female voice cracked the charged silence. "Put down the _gun_."

Monroe. I sagged in relief, letting the quicksilver slide off us, as she stalked in and disarmed the lab techs. "It's about time, Monroe," I snapped at her.

She was busy herding the techs together, but spared me a roll of her eyes at my tone. "I got lost," was her careless explanation. "No markings anywhere. In there." She waved her gun at the techs and they reluctantly filed into the room we had just escaped from.

"I think I can walk now," Phoebe murmured. I became aware of her weight in my arms again and looked down. She was staring at me with an expression I couldn't read.

"You sure?" I asked. She really wasn't heavy.

"Very." Okay, _that_ look she inherited from Hobbes. I let her down. "Who's the pretty Klingon?" she asked, looking at Alex. Then she turned to me. "And what's with the H.G. Wells impersonation?"

That was one of the first times anyone had instantly associated my invisibility with its literary counterpart. I was impressed. Not to mention that I don't think I've ever heard Alex described more accurately. "The pretty Klingon is Alex Monroe and the H.G. Wells impersonation is just something I pull out for birthdays, bar mitzvahs and the rescuing of fair damsels."

"Ah, that would explain the overwhelming humility," she replied, completely deadpan.

Monroe laughed as she turned from locking the door. "Fawkes, we'd better go. Hobbes has totally lost it."

Phoebe stiffened. "No I haven't!"

That shouldn't have caught me by surprise, but it did. Of course, she was probably called Ms. Hobbes at the school. Monroe was glaring at me now. "You didn't tell her?"

"Didn't have time," I said uncomfortably. "There were kingdoms to save and quests and...no, I didn't tell her." 

Just then we heard boots pounding in the hallways, and I didn't have to tell her then either. Now, I didn't remember the experimental labs being in an upper story, but since I didn't remember much, I didn't say anything. Phoebe managed the climb down the tree just fine. The van was waiting around the corner where we'd left it. As we climbed into the back, Claire did a quick head count and pealed out from the curb.

Phoebe was glancing around, looking confused. "Phoebe," I said, "meet Claire and...." She was already staring at Hobbes, who was looking at her as if he couldn't believe his eyes. I saw him mouth a word. I'm pretty sure it was "Grace."

When Phoebe spoke, it was little more than a wide-eyed whisper. "Daddy?"

Hobbes reached out a hand to her; I don't think I've ever seen him so near tears. "Phoebe. I'm so sorry...."

She cut him off by lunging forward and wrapping her arms around him. "I didn't even know you were alive! Oh, God...." She held on tight, head resting on Hobbes' shoulder as he awkwardly patted her back. I saw him glance rather desperately at Alex, who just shrugged and grinned at him.

Claire whipped the van around a corner, throwing us against the wall. "Geez, Keep, cut that out!" I protested. "I've got enough of a headache as it is!"

"Sorry." But the van keep going at a clip even Hobbes didn't really approve of, from the way he was frowning.

Or maybe he was thinking of something else. "Fawkes, you need your shot?"

I checked my tattoo, feeling like an idiot--was it even possible to forget that I was so near quicksilver madness that Claire had had to keep Hobbes from chasing into the building after me with counteragent? But there were only 3 segments red.

"No. I'm fine." I glanced up at Hobbes, trying to figure out what had really happened in there. "Did you--grab some counteragent and try to provide backup?"

Hobbes slowly nodded. "I think so. Claire--" he turned and glared at the driver's seat-- "used that damn tranq gun on me."

Phoebe partially detached herself from Hobbes, keeping a hand on his shoulder. "That's an interesting tattoo," she observed, watching my face. "An ouroboros?"

I grimaced. "Yeah, I know the symbolism," I told her. "It wasn't exactly my choice."

Hobbes was still frowning at me. "I could've sworn you were almost out of time."

"Me too...." I let my voice trail off. Did Chrysalis have counteragent? Had they been expecting me? I surreptitiously felt my arms, but the only sore spot was from the injection Claire had given me before the mission. But...there's no way it would reverse on its own....

There was a scream from Claire; the van skidded; I suddenly thought of the rain and slick roads. Then the world turned upside-down.

Who needs to go quicksilver mad when your Keeper can crash your transportation that easily? I tried to get up. My head was throbbing painfully. I wondered if I had a concussion. There were scuffling sounds near me; the floor felt weird, hard, metallic. Oh. Stupid me. The van was on its side.

"Phoebe?" Hobbes was near panic. For a second I surprised myself by wondering why he called her name first, instead of his partner's.

"I'm okay."

"The side doors are probably smashed." That was Monroe, right behind me. "Let's go out the back."

Hobbes' voice was sharp. "Darien? You hurt?"

"No, I'm fine." I got to my knees. "What about Claire?"

"Aw crap!" I heard Hobbes turn and clamber towards the front seats. "Get out the back doors. I'll get Claire, make sure the ignition's off...."

We turned to the back of the van, where Monroe was struggling with the doors. "I sure hope the fuel line's intact," I heard her mutter. Finally one of the doors fell outward with a clang, and Monroe crawled through.

I could see her silhouette outside, frozen for a moment. Then she started turning in place, as if searching for something she just couldn't find, something that wasn't there but just had to be. "Oh, hell!" I heard. "Hobbes! Fawkes? Where are you?!"

I don't think I've ever heard Alex that shaken. Phoebe scrambled past me and I followed at her heels. We stumbled into a blank, dimly lit, gray corridor, and when I turned around, there was no sign of the van.

**********

None of us spoke for a moment; there isn't really much to say when you're suddenly transported from one reality to another. Some part of my brain didn't believe what I'd just seen, but Phoebe and Monroe were both standing there looking ashen-faced in the poor lighting. Slowly I lifted a hand to rub my aching head. Maybe this was some kind of mass hallucination. I glanced at my tattoo, but it still registered only 3 segments filled.

Hobbes stumbled into sight right in front of us, crouched over as if dragging something, except that there was nothing in his arms. He froze, staring at his empty hands, then started to his feet, eyes darting as he assessed the situation as only a paranoid agent can. Tense as a cat, he counted the three of us and then looked for the van again.

I heard Phoebe sigh and glanced at her. She felt the look and met my gaze, expression resigned and a touch exasperated. The suspicion that had been lurking in my mind suddenly made sense: the unlocked door, the 2nd-story window, the crash in the van, my tattoo.... oh, no. The headache. I nodded to her, letting my frustration spill out in pure sarcasm. "They sure do great work, don't they? So who's real this time?"

Hobbes and Monroe just stared at me. "What?" Alex finally spluttered.

"I was caught and wired into the VR system; that's how I found Phoebe," I explained to Hobbes. "I thought we'd gotten out, but we must still be locked in. All this," I waved a casual hand through the air, "is in our heads."

Hobbes' eyes widened so far I thought they'd fall right out. "Are you saying you don't think I'm real?"

"Oh, shut up," Monroe fumed, starting to pace.

"We know Phoebe's real," I commented, "because she's their original subject."

Phoebe turned her brilliant smile on me, and I missed her first few words as I realized what that picture of her had promised me. "... but 'if you believe in me, then I'll believe in you'."

"Lewis Carroll," I said, automatically. Then something else occurred to me and I turned to Hobbes. "How far did you get before Claire tranq'ed you? You remember?"

He slowly shook his head.

"Maybe she didn't. Maybe you got in and they caught you."

Hobbes' glower was hot enough to melt steel. "No one captures Bobby Hobbes, my friend."

"Oh come off it, Hobbes," Monroe said irritably. "At least it would explain why you're here."

"And why are you here?" Hobbes flung the words back at her. "Ms. five-star hotshot super-agent? You get caught even before Fawkes got down here?"

Something else clicked into place. "Right. We couldn't get Monroe to respond on the headset."

Hobbes snapped his fingers in Monroe's face. Miraculously, she didn't bite his head off, but instead asked in a tightly controlled voice, "How do we get out of this?"

"Assuming none of us is a Chrysalis plant?" Hobbes interrupted, glaring at Monroe.

Phoebe had her eyes closed, then opened them and looked directly at her father. "I think we can assume we're all real, for now at least. How do we get out?" She shrugged. "Take the adventure that comes to us?"

"This isn't one of those stories, Phoebe," I reminded her.

"Everything is a story," she corrected me, and the certainty in her voice stopped the further comment I was about to make.

Alex was slowly shaking her head, and Hobbes just looked confused, when we heard the sound of shouts and hurrying footsteps from far down the corridor. Before I could even react, Hobbes was dragging Phoebe in the opposite direction. "Fawkes! Help me find a way outta here!"

"Where are we?" Alex asked me as we ran along behind Hobbes.

I shook my head. "Not sure. It looks like the lab center underground, but if that's true, then--" We rounded a corner, and there it was, the door to the narrow staircase by which I had entered the labs. "That leads up to ground level." There was no noise from the stairs; it was all concentrated behind us. "I think it might be some kind of escape hatch." I reached for the handle.

It was still open, the lock jammed with my lockpick, but the second I touched the handle, a deafening klaxon went off and red flashing lights bathed the corridor in blood. Louder shouts and running steps filled the corridor, sounding way too close for comfort. I acted without thinking, yanking the door open and shoving Alex through. "Secure the door up there," I told her, reaching back for Phoebe. Hobbes was already pushing her through, and I motioned him in after her. As they started up the stairs I let the door close on them, leaving me in the corridor alone. 

Hobbes came crashing back down the stairs, trying to get back through the door I had my back against. "Fawkes, what d'you think you're doin'?"

"Making sure you aren't followed," I told him.

"You can't. We can't risk Chrysalis getting the gland," he told me, shoving against the door.

I shoved him back. "They won't. Trust me." The footsteps were getting too loud, competing with the alarms. I put my face to the crack in the door. "Get her out."

I glanced past him and saw Phoebe on the stairs, looking at me quizzically.

"I don't know the story," I told her. "So I'm just taking your advice."

Another slow smile rewarded me. "Follow your best and noblest impulses." She nodded, then darted down to pull Hobbes back from the door and up the stairs with her. "Dad, come on...."

I slammed the door on them and turned to face the Chrysalis guards that were appearing around the corner. It would only take a minute or so of quicksilver to turn this crushing pain into something terrifying, and God help anyone who gets in the way of Darien Fawkes red-eyed. 

But invisibility isn't much good when your enemies have thermal glasses. I started the cold flow over my body anyway--then a bright flash colored my vision and everything seemed to fade away. The horror of having failed to protect my friends was quickly over-ridden by a dull heaviness in my whole body, silence in my ears, and a disorienting sensation of nausea. Phoebe's words, "best and noblest impulses," echoed in my brain, and I tried to open my eyes and roll over. I couldn't move. The familiar feel of padded restraints made me want to scream.

After a moment of lying there, waiting for the sickness to fade and my heart to slow its pounding, I managed to force my eyes open and lift my head. Well. These people didn't seem to have quite as classy methods as the Agency. I craned my neck, trying to sit up, and catalogued everything that kept me from doing so: a band across my chest and shoulders, a padded belt that locked my hands to the rails of the bed, double straps around the legs but no cuffs there. The clasps all seemed out of reach, but that wasn't a problem…. Then I let my head flop back down. Crap. Insanity was way too close to even think of using quicksilver to shatter them.

The electrodes taped to my skull and left hand reminded me of the last time I woke up in a room like this. "Wonder if this is the real thing," I grumbled aloud, and was rewarded by a familiar groan.

"Hobbes?" I whispered, hoping they didn't have pickups or cameras in here--yeah, right. "Hobbes? That you?"

Another groan. It came from somewhere behind me, so however I twisted, I couldn't see him. I called out again, but relaxed as he finally spoke. "How come Eberts didn't _tell_ us that thing worked like a freakin' merry-go-round?"

"Hobbes?" I said again.

There was a brief pause, then he said, "Yeah, Fawkes?" in a rather strained voice.

"I don't want to make you feel worse than I'm sure you already do, but we've got to get out of here pronto." I rattled my restraints a little. "Unless you want See-Through Man to turn into Evil Rikki-Tikki-Tavi. You tied up too?"

"Uh-huh." He sounded preoccupied; but the next words out of his mouth were surprised and a little suspicious. "I don't see any monitors or listening devices. This room is totally sterile, 'cept for these electrode thingies. And they've got us all in the same room."

I twisted my head. Sure enough, there was Monroe, locked into some kind of waist-and-head thing on the floor, and on my other side was another gurney bed. The dark-haired woman restrained there was Phoebe Hobbes. I tested my own restraints again in frustration. "They must be as underfunded as we are."

Hobbes managed a brief chuckle. "Well, slip out some o' the silver stuff, partner, and we'll-"

I cut him off, wishing I could turn far enough to glare at him, and the violence of the wish itself made me uneasy. "Didn't hear me, did you Hobbes? I use one more bit of 'that silver stuff,' and you won't _want_ me out of these restraints. Unless you or Monroe magically managed to keep some counteragent when you were nabbed."

He grunted. "Nope. They're pretty thorough. You sure you're that close? Can you see your tattoo?"

I glanced down towards my wrist. Most of it was covered by the cuff, and what did show was entirely red. "Not all of it, but trust me, I know the feeling. Any more…productive ideas?"

"Let me think for a minute. Bobby Hobbes is never without options."

Like what, I wondered. Probably no one knew we were missing, and I really couldn't see Claire or Eberts coming to the rescue. What I could see was the kind of life I might lead as a Chrysalis lab rat. It was bad enough at the Agency, but at least I did work and live on my own, and get an (admittedly small) paycheck. Maybe they'd drain quicksilver from the gland, or send me into permanent Stage 5 madness, keep me locked up for the rest of my natural life, or most likely kill me and give the gland to a more cooperative host. I shivered, and had to focus to keep from involuntarily vanishing.

At that moment the door swung open, and our option walked into the room. 

It was the female lab tech I'd seen earlier. Her eyes went first to me, widening slightly as she saw I was awake, and then she pasted on a really fake smile and walked up to stand beside my bed. "And how are you feeling?" she asked, all sweetness. 

She was being cautious, I'll give her that. She carried a clipboard in one hand, but the other stayed near the pocket of her lab coat, and the bulge in there looked like a gun. That smile looked terrible; too bad, because under other circumstances, I might have found her attractive. Soft honey-brown hair and clear hazel eyes…. But there was only one of her. This would be a good time to prove that the Fawkes charm was just as effective on your average--albeit enemy--chick as the famous Bobby Hobbes aura. "Hey," I said, pretending to be a little more disoriented than I really was. "Not too good. When do I get out?"

"Well, that's to be expected," she said kindly, looking me over with sharp eyes. "And…probably not for a while. Till you feel better, you know." Man, her voice was tense. She frowned. I blinked innocently at her, but she just switched back to the smile.

Okay. Fine. Maybe something a bit more straightforward would work. "I've got a headache," I told her.

She nodded, without looking at me. "That does happen with some people."

I let myself laugh, softly and deep. She jumped. I grinned inwardly, thanking Hobbes for drawing my attention to the laugh I used when quicksilver mad. "You know who I am, right?"

The lab tech nodded warily. That hand was now _in_ her gun pocket. Great. Keep going. You're too valuable to shoot, oh mighty gland.

"And you know what happens if I turn invisible too often?"

Her eyes got really wide then.

"You might want to check my tattoo," I said gently, jiggling my captive right wrist. "Sometimes a headache means I'm about to go insane. And I've been known to damage equipment and so on it that state."

Uh-oh. She was frowning at me again. Didn't believe me, thought it was a trap. What could I do to convince her…?

I acted on instinct, consciously letting myself go, letting my gaze drift from hers, sliding down her figure, caressing it with a lift of my eyebrows and murmuring something on the edge of obscene in a husky voice. She started back, hand clenched in her pocket, and I let my eyes squeeze shut, turning away my face as if embarrassed. "Sorry," I mumbled. That wasn't very hard. I hate myself when I act like that, and this wasn't even the quicksilver talking. "I didn't mean to…. You know."

She sighed, put down the clipboard, and started loosening the right cuff. I could tell that it wouldn't release my other hand, but one should be enough. The chick was using both hands, and had to get the cuff pretty large to shift up my arm enough to reveal the entire tattoo. When she carefully turned my wrist over to check on Mr. Snake, I jerked it back and shrugged the cuff off.

There was just enough slack in the shoulder band for me to wriggle forward and free that arm. The tech gasped and grabbed for my arm, but I twisted just out of reach and came back at her with an awkward glancing blow under the chin. She stumbled and I heard the clipboard crack under her feet. My free hand grappled with the loosed belt at my waist, jerking it apart in a practiced way and slipping my left hand free before she could grab for me again.

I was reaching for the strap that now pressed against my neck when her steely little hands started prying mine away. Suddenly Hobbes shouted, "Lady, over here!"

She jumped and glanced away, ready for this new threat. I thrust up a hand and snagged her hair, twisting my fingers in it and dragging her down against my chest. That arm locked around her head; I let the other find the clasp on my neck band. The tech screamed and I sat up, hands locking around her throat, choking off the sound. I hated what I was going to do, but it had to be done. She struggled in my grasp, nearly overturning the bed I was still attached to.

"Fawkes, don't!" Hobbes' voice was pure panic, and I couldn't really blame him.

"It isn't what you think!" I managed to gasp out. I shifted one hand to the tech's collar, drew back the other and punched her solidly. She staggered, then tried to stand, one hand groping for her pocket, finally going for her gun. I punched her again and she collapsed on the floor, a trickle of blood running from her nose.

I sat staring at her for a moment, panting, then started undoing the remaining restraints with hands still shaking from the adrenaline rush. "Guess you're right," I told Hobbes. "The Fawkes charm is more destructive than romantic." The remaining electrodes I yanked off and tossed aside.

He didn't say anything. I slipped off the bed, found the keys in the unconscious tech's pocket, and stood to find him staring at me with an expressionless face. I went to him first, making sure he could see my eyes clearly. "See? Not red. But that was pretty good, huh?"

Hobbes relaxed a bit and let me start unlocking the restraints he was in--the same head-and-waist configuration as Alex. "Yeah, well, your technique needs work, my friend," he said.

"Oh yeah, tell her that." I nodded at the tech.

"Someone had to have heard that scream," he commented. "Where's her gun?"

I frowned. Great. I really wanted to be in a big fight when I couldn't go invisible. I tossed him the tech's gun as he staggered to his feet. "Here. Watch the door." I took Hobbes' cuffs and strapped up the girl, noting that she was still out. I flexed my sore fist and hoped she'd stay that way for a while. I went to Monroe next, who was awake and looking groggy. I jerked the electrodes off her skull and offered a hand, which she promptly rejected. "Sorry, no gun," I told her, and countered her chill stare by asking, "I don't suppose you have any counteragent?"

She stared at me, her expression tightening, then felt in her pocket. Her hand came out damp-the smell was torture. "Not unless you want to lick it out of my pocket," Monroe said, smiling in a good parody of her trained seduction skills.

I shuddered. "No thanks." I was already working on Phoebe, who still had her eyes closed. Her restraints were even tighter than mine, a precaution that made me wonder. How many kinds of hell had they put her through? Fragments of stories flashed through my brain and I impatiently shoved them aside. She had a million electrodes and other monitoring equipment on her too...arms, finger, ankles, temples, chest. Damn, what a beautiful woman. I could feel my hands trembling as I stripped the wires from her warm skin and knew with terrible certainty what would happen if the gland took over in her presence. The image sickened me, and I welcomed the nausea this time.

Hobbes and Monroe were muttering about the lack of reinforcements for our still-unconscious tech. "I don't like it," Hobbes said, adjusting his stance. "We go out there, I bet they're all waiting for us."

"We'll definitely get caught if we stay here," Monroe countered, crossing her arms.

"Yeah, yeah…Fawkes, can we go? Is she okay?" Hobbes hissed.

Phoebe's eyes had finally flickered open. A little crease appeared between her eyebrows. "This looks familiar," she said in a dry, slurred voice.

"Déjà vu," I agreed. "Do you mind if I pick you up? I think you'll make a beautiful diversion."

She smiled. "Go ahead. Quite the silver tongue you've got there."

I bit the tongue in question to keep from laughing as I scooped her up into my arms. Her head nestled into my shoulder. "S'okay," she murmured. "I wouldn't mind doing this part a few more times."

I paced up to the door, trying to ignore that comment and focus on getting her out safe. "Monroe, can you get that? Then get out of the way. I've got an idea."

"What do you think you're doing?" Hobbes growled at me. "You're both gonna get killed."

"Just do it, okay?"

"Fine." Monroe swung the door wide, revealing several techs and guards facing the door. Nothing to do but go through with it.

"Do we get invisible again?" Phoebe whispered.

"Not this time," I said in a low voice. "Something's happened! I need help!" I shouted, staggering forward through the doorway. 

A couple of guns lowered as I stumbled into the group and lowered Phoebe to the floor. There were five of them, I guessed. Okay…while their attention was on Phoebe and me…. Now would be a good time, guys!

In one fluid motion, I punched one guard and kicked at another. By then Hobbes and Monroe had joined the fray. 

For a couple of minutes the room was a mess of colliding flesh, pain, and confused sound. The guy I'd dropped rolled over to grapple with me--he'd lost his gun when he went down. I felt him coming and got an elbow in his stomach, then used my shoulder to slam his head against the floor. Shots rang out overhead and I ducked. A body in a white lab coat hit the floor near me. There was a shout from Hobbes, and a few more gunshots as I turned to look for the other guard I'd punched.

He'd grabbed Phoebe by the shoulders and was trying to pull her upright. Before I could get in a blow, she'd kicked him in the groin. Hard. He'd be out of commission for a minute, especially when Hobbes swung from decking another lab worker and nailed him in the solar plexus. There was another soft thump behind me, and I turned to see Alex dusting off her hands over the last unconscious guard.

The silence was surprising, almost. Hobbes helped Phoebe up. The tenderness on his face was another shock for the day. Alex collected the various guns and split them between her and Hobbes. When he tossed one to me, she took it back with a pointed glance at my tattoo that stopped Hobbes' protest on my behalf. Well, I wouldn't want me loose with a gun when that filled either, so I didn't say anything.

"Anyone remember the way out of here?" Hobbes asked, stowing the gun back in his waistband.

"Maybe, if we're still in basement level." I reached for the door…it was locked. "Damn, it's locked. Anyone got a pick?" 

Monroe gave a dramatic sigh. "One sec." She unbuttoned her blouse and slipped a hand inside, sneaking it out again with a bit of wire gripped between her fingers. A first-class lockpick, actually. She tossed it to me. "What are you looking at? Any female agent worth her salt wears an 'underwire'."

Hobbes barely controlled a laugh.

This door was as easy as the one at the stairwell. After a moment of fiddling with the lock, it swung open and I peered out into an empty ward-white corridor. "This sure looks like the basement. If I remember correctly, the stairs should be to the left."

"Fine. Let's scram." Hobbes glanced at Phoebe, who smiled.

"Don't worry, Daddy." She lingered just a little on the word. "I'm fine." Hobbes nodded and waved Alex and I out first. 

The corridors were pretty much empty, as they'd been when I first came downstairs. At Hobbes' urging, we made good time, passing the corner where I guessed I'd been captured and reaching the unobtrusive stairway door without incident. This made Hobbes very nervous; he started muttering to himself about it being too easy and shooting worried glances at Phoebe, not to mention his normal hyper-alertness. 

The door was still open, just as in the VR sim, but without my pick in the lock. "This feels like a trap," Alex said. We hesitated there for a moment. Phoebe tapped Hobbes on the shoulder, a puzzled frown lowering her eyebrows. 

"Do you think there's a computer terminal in there?" she asked, pointing back to an open lab door.

I nodded. "I remember doing a search…sure there is."

Alex gave her a mocking look. "What do you want to do, check your email? Hobbes, she certainly didn't inherit your sense of caution."

Phoebe broke away, darting into the room. Hobbes ran after her, and after exchanging glances--Alex looked extremely put-upon--we followed. The short girl was booting up the computer, fingers hovering restlessly over the keyboard.

Monroe grabbed for her. "No! You'll alert the whole network! They monitor all this stuff, you idiot."

"They'll never know," Phoebe said lightly. She started typing. The screen went blank and began to fill with long strings of numbers and letters. Alex paused and stared at the lines, eyebrows shooting up into her hairline.

Hobbes and I joined them. I couldn't make heads or tails of the stuff--computers are not my strong point. But Hobbes' voice was awed. "What _is_ that?"

"Revenge." Phoebe grinned, fingers flying even faster.

Monroe answered him as she bent further towards the screen. "It looks like a virus…how are you getting through their file encryptions?"

"I'm not," Phoebe said. "That's part of the program. 'Never do what someone else could do for you'."

"That's impressive," Monroe said, "but we don't have time to meddle like this. If we don't leave now, they'll track us right to this room."

Unfortunately, she actually made sense. "Um, Hobbes," I whispered. His eyes were now fixed on the door behind us. "Our mission was search and retrieve. Can we go now?"

"You think a chaotic virus won't help us get out?" Phoebe said, not sparing a glance from the screen. She actually giggled, those dark blue eyes glowing.

"If you change that line," Monroe said, suddenly interested, "we might be able to override the network encoding."

"To get in later and do a search? Great idea!"

Hobbes paced over to the door. "I think they're coming back."

"Just another minute…" Monroe and Phoebe were both whispering, Alex pointing to things on the screen. I held my breath, impatient with this waiting. Hobbes was right, it did seem too easy. Not as easy as the sim, but enough to make me just as nervous: a door I could unlock, a computer, Phoebe's ability to hack (wasn't she an English teacher?)…. _Maybe I'm still in that machine._ I glanced down at my right wrist. Only one green segment left. Well, it must be real unless they somehow got it right this time…. I idly picked up some interesting-looking diagrams and lists of numbers, tucking them into a pocket. We should have something to show for this raid....

"There we go!" Phoebe hit a button, the screen went blank--and a deafening alarm went off, rattling the walls and shaking the air. The look on her face was priceless. Absolutely dumbfounded.

"I didn't mean to!" she shouted. "I guess I somehow set off the fire alarm!"

"Go! Move!" Monroe shouted, flinging the door open and taking point.

We got up the stairs without being stopped, but it was hard to tell if anyone was nearby. Little could be heard above the alarm. I did hear Hobbes' comment to Phoebe: "That was real smart. Now they'll be on the alert."

"No, they'll be in a panic," she retorted, but we were out on the first floor by now, moving through yet another corridor. Voices were calling out, but I couldn't make out the words. It could've been a manhunt or a riot somewhere in the building, for all I could tell. Alex moved first, letting Phoebe trail behind with me, and Hobbes brought up the rear. He was trying to compensate for the noise by watching all directions at once. Phoebe looked…perky. Sort of. Not an expression I'm used to seeing on an assignment.

We rounded a corner right into a group of business-suited Chrysalis agents. I ducked, pulling Phoebe with me as Alex and Hobbes brought up their guns. There was a brief exchange of fire. I saw two agents go down…then there was a grunt from Hobbes and a last shot from Alex felled the third. I pulled Phoebe up to see Hobbes clutching his left shoulder. "I'm fine," he said, pushing past us. Phoebe shook her head, whether in admiration or wonder I couldn't tell.

The next corner led us into the corridor that ended in the main entrance. It was crowded with agents, lab techs, and guards, arms loaded with files, computer stuff, even some goldfish in a fancy bowl.

"Looks like a last-minute evac," Hobbes muttered. Phoebe poked his good shoulder and whispered something that sounded suspiciously like, "I told you so."

"Then let's evacuate with them," Monroe stated. She grabbed Phoebe and started into the crowd. 

"Wait a sec!" Hobbes pushed after her, but once in among the people there was no way to be heard without giving away our position somehow, so he shut up and followed them, one hand deep in his gun pocket, looking extremely worried.

Can't say I blamed him. I mean, that was his daughter being shoved through enemy lines. Not to mention that some of these people might have run into him or me before on some other Chrysalis case. I wished I'd slicked my hair down or something to disguise myself before coming on this mission. It's just too visible without the quicksilver. But luck or something was with us, because the only attention we got were shoves as we cut through the line to reach the door.

It was shut. A single guard stood in front of it, fielding shouted questions over the alarm. "No, no one is going anywhere right now!" he yelled, brandishing an automatic rifle. 

"But the fire!" someone yelled.

"My computer just went crazy!" another voice added. 

Just before we reached him, I saw Alex yank Phoebe's hands behind her and whisper something into her ear. Phoebe gave her a dirty look but nodded and started walking as if she were drugged….slow, sluggish, uncoordinated. They came to a stop after pushing past the front row of people, right before the guard. Hobbes and I were just behind them; I could feel my partner's jittery energy as he tried to keep a rein on himself.

"Open the door," Alex demanded pleasantly.

The guard stared at her, his nondescript face and trim black hair making him look like a clone. "There's an enemy agent in the building," he said. "No one's going in or out."

"Except me, peabrain." Monroe can certainly play a good boss lady when she wants to-which, come to think of it, is most of the time. "This--" she jerked Phoebe, who had sagged into immobility, "--is what that agent is looking for. We need to move her to a more secure location in case they send in backup. Open the door."

He glared at her for a moment, actually looking thoughtful. Then he thrust out a hand. "ID, please."

That's when I recognized him, from one of the Chrysalis training camps that Monroe had helped us break up. Hobbes muttered a few choice words and I knew he'd made the same connection.

Alex stuck a hand in her breast pocket as if going for her ID, but in one swift move shouldered the guard's gun aside and slammed the butt of her own gun into his jaw. He slumped back, dropping his weapon, and Hobbes reached out to keep him from going all the way down.

Monroe propped the guard up by a grip on his jacket. "Hand or keycard?" she yelled at me.

I pulled Phoebe around front as the crowd started to press in from behind, a suspicious hum growing under the alarm. "Hand! Left hand!" 

Monroe grabbed his left hand and pressed it to the pad beside the door. A few lights twinkled, and the door slid open.

Hobbes dropped the guard and yanked Phoebe forward through the doorway, as Alex and I ran behind into a thick cloud of acrid smoke. Coughing, eyes stinging, I followed their dim forms down the steps, away from the roar behind us as other people started spilling out of the building.

As we cleared the steps and started running, I could hear an unfamiliar laugh--Phoebe. She was coughing and trying to laugh at the same time. "A real fire!" she choked out. "I didn't set off the stupid alarm!"

Hobbes dragged her along towards the alley where the van should be parked. It was lighter than it should be outside, much lighter…more the gray of 6am than the black of 11pm. Hopefully the van was still there. I turned to look at the building. Gouts of flame licked up its side, dancing in the windows, feeding on goodness-knows-what. "Wow."

"Come on, Fawkes!" 

I ran after them.


	5. Act 4

Phoebe 

My father is alive! My father is alive! No matter how many times I look at him it doesn't seem real. But it is real. And how do I know that? Trust me...I'm gifted. It's really amazing how you can go from abject terror to absolute joy in so short a time. 

As Daddy pulled me along after him I slowed and tripped over my own feet. I thrust out my hands to catch myself and got my hands scratched up in the process. Those long days of confinement had caught up with me. Cramping, and lots of it. I moaned as I went crashing down. My father skidded to a halt and jogged back over to me. 

"Sorry." I panted, "'M cramping up...I haven't moved for like forever." I apologized. 

"It's alright, sweetheart," He said helping me up-he slung my arm around his shoulders and grasped my waist with one of his. If we weren't in such a fix I most likely would have cried at the softness of his voice. 

The air was quite suddenly filled with sirens- at that we spun around. My erstwhile hero and the red-haired bulldozer had also turned 'round. It looked like an invasion. I grinned spitefully at the building and repressed the urge to thumb my nose at it. 

"Looks like the riot I arranged for has arrived." Three sets of eyes turned and stared at me. I blinked at their dumbfounded expressions. "While I was online...I sent some mail. To the cops and to various news crews and to the animal control people and to the animal rights people and to the newspapers... " I paused dramatically. "And the I.R.S." Sometimes I can be downright petty. Hey, its not like they didn't deserve it. "I figured that if worse came to worse we could escape in the mass confusion. Maid Marion strikes again!" I pumped a fist into the air. 

My dad let out a yelp of surprised laughter. "That's my girl!" He crowed. 

Alex shook her head fighting a smile. "And I thought these two were bad." 

"Maid Marion?" Darien looked at me, his expression unreadable. 

"Oh, Maid Marion's my computer handle." He grinned at me slowly. 

"What?" 

"Nothing." 

"Nothing. Yeah, right." I muttered suspiciously. 

"Can we go now?" Monroe asked impatiently. 

As in answer to her question a really ugly van -one I recognized from the sims- came slamming out of an alley to where the four of us stood. It skidded to an abrupt stop. The door swung open to reveal a lovely women with long darkish blond hair. "Need a ride?" she asked in a melodic British accent. 

"Keep, what kept ya?" Dad said with a grin as we filed in. 

"The Official. He said no. I came anyway." She looked with some amusement at the building that seemed to be the object of so much...unwelcome attention. "How did you like my diversion?" 

"The fire. That was you?" Darien said piling in after the two of us. "A real work of art." Monroe grabbed the front passengers seat. 

"Where did they come from?" She asked jerking her shoulder towards the throng. 

Darien let out a laugh, "Let's just say that Hobbesey's little girl didn't fall too far from the tree." 

"Hi!" I called happily to her. "It's nice to meet you...now that you're real." She blinked. 

"Likewise, Miss Hobbes." Our ride replied uncertainly. 

"Phoebe, my name is Phoebe." I stopped and frowned as an unwelcome thought crossed my mind. 

"What is it?" My father's concern fell on me like a searchlight. 

"You don't think they tagged us do you? I mean in case we got released out into the wild; I was there for a long time there's no telling what those E.B.P.'s did to me in there. For all I know they could have done stuff to my DNA, they could have..." 

"She's definitely yours," Alex asserted with a laugh, "she must have inherited the gene for 'rabid paranoia'." 

The look Dad gave her spoke volumes. 

I very maturely chose to ignore it. 

"E.B.P?" Darien looked at me oddly. 

"Evil Butterfly People...Chrysalis...it just seemed to fit." I smiled at him. 

Dad cleared his throat "Phoebe...how did you know?" He poised the question painfully. His face told a story of sorrow for the lost years, anger at the lie that had kept us apart and the guilt of a parent who was not there. 

"Know what?" I asked carefully. The van went silent. The other three tried very hard not to look at us. Without much success. 

"That I'm you're father?" 

My heart stopped beating for an instant. What he really wanted to know was why had I automatically accepted him, why I wasn't mad at him for being missing from my life. This was neither the time nor the place for such questions. Nonetheless, something had to be said. 

"Mom. I got all her diaries-which she wrote in ancient Greek-which I had to learn-and the wedding album. You had more hair then. And what was with that powdered blue ruffled thing you wore?" 

Darien's glance was sharp at my flippant tone. I looked at him trying desperately to communicate that this was not the ideal place to redress old wounds. After a moment, his eyes softened and he nodded slowly. Meanwhile, Alex and Claire (her name was Claire, right?) started giggling and I heard Alex mutter something about, "well dressed men." 

"I'm just glad that you're not Darth Vader," I said wanting to relieve the tension between us. Dad let out a laughter tinged sigh. 

~~~~~~*

So this was The Agency. An unassuming building that apparently was in the use of the Bureau of Weights and Measures. I didn't believe that for a moment. I was led through the badly lit halls to an office. It looked surprisingly enough like Mrs. Gorgon's( my boss...that's really her name...not kidding) office.

A large desk meant clearly to intimidate loomed up off the floor with the Bureau seal dominating the wall behind it. Considerably smaller uncomfortable chairs crouched in an uneven semi-circle around it. My first impression of The Official was that of a strange mix of Winston Churchill and a bulldog, alright, so it could be argued that a mix of the two is unnecessary as a bulldog already looks like Churchill and the man himself had a personality remarkably like that of a bulldog anyway. Can we move on now? He was very polite, something I don't think happens all that often. 

Then there was Eberts-dear lord...the man looked like Charlie Brown all grown up. When we entered The Official was reading a dossier and Eberts was watching a small portable TV. The sounds of the hind end of some CNN press conference bounced off the almost but not quite beige walls. "Senator Robert Kelly's proposed 'Genetic Documention Law' is once again in front of the Supreme Court" were the last words that we heard before the TV was clicked off. The bland little man nodded in sudden understanding of my expression. I slowly nodded back. Darien watched this little exchange with an interested tilt of the head. 

The Official tried to convince me that they really did work for the B of W&M. I let out a cheerful albeit cynical laugh and shook my head. 

"Listen to me very carefully," I said using my 'I know what you're up to and you're not getting away with it' voice. "For the last two days my mind has been messed with...my cerebral cortex played with...please do not lie to me. And whatever you do don't underestimate my intelligence. You are spies. I get that. And you don't want it to get around. I get that also. For whatever it may be worth- you have my word. I'll keep your secret. I'm good with secrets. I'm not in the habit of putting family unnecessarily at risk. So don't beat around the bush and try to tell me something that both of us know is not the truth. 'Cause it won't get you anywhere and it annoys me." 

For some odd reason he didn't want to talk to me after that. 

~~~~~~*

I was then led to a lab that held the odd moniker of the Keep. The Keeper (whose name did turn out to be Claire) patched up Dad as I hummed 'secret agent man' to myself- waiting for the inevitable barrage of tests that would take place that would ensure that I hadn't been tampered with. After Claire finished, she left. Claiming that she needed to submit a report to The Official. It was clear to me that everyone was clearing out to give the two of us some time alone. And from the look of trepidation on his face it was clear to him too.

It got very still. 

"I'm so sorry," He finally whispered. The words echoed throughout the room, multiplying his sorrow. 

I stared at him. "For what?" I replied. I could feel my forehead wrinkling up in puzzlement. 

"For not being there for you. I swear to you that I did not know..." His hands came up to cover his face and he shook with twenty-six years worth of tears. I ran over and knelt in front of his chair. I took a trembling hand and held it to 

my cheek. 

"Daddy,_ A rún_!" By now I was crying to. He started- his eyes wide...his other hand fell to his lap. _A rún _is Irish Gaelic for love or dear one. "Daddy listen to me, it's like they say in Erin; Mothers and Fathers hold their children's hands for just a little while...And their hearts forever." 

"But I never got to hold your hand...I...I was lied to. The government they..." 

"The government?" Never even occurred to me. "I never considered that one. I rather thought it might be The E.Q." I said my eyes burning. 

"The E.Q.?" At this he raised an eyebrow. 

"The Evil Queen. Great grandmother Helena." I shook my head and tried to focus. "Listen, you didn't get to hold my hand. Mom didn't get to either. But you were still there. I have always known that I came from two extraordinary people who loved each very much. I was born of love. That's more then a lot of people have. I have always counted myself lucky to have that. But now? Here you are! Alive! It's a miracle." 

He smiled at me somewhat ruefully. "I've never believed in miracles." 

"Maybe you should start." I got a labored chuckle. 

"What do I know 'bout being a father?" Said Bobby Hobbes once again weary. 

"Well, you rescued me from the monsters. That's a good start." I was startled at how small my voice sounded.

At that he pulled me from the floor and into the bear-hug that I'd always imagined my father could give. Whispering "_A rún mo chroí!_" the Gaelic for 'o love of my heart' into my hair. We stayed like that until our tears ran out. 

~~~~~~*

I have never liked being the subject of testing of any sort. This was not an exception to the rule. I patiently(fidgeted a lot)waited for the various tests to come to a close. I had hopped off the counter and found a chair that spun. As I spun I watched with interest as Claire injected Darien with a dark blue liquid. Hmm, that was interesting. After giving him a quick once-over she turned back to me.

To tell the truth it was the questions about what had actually occurred in the living nightmare of VR that scared me. The idea of reliving some of what when on in there was not pleasant.

"Now, I'd like you to answer some questions about your experience in VR." Claire announced in that lovely voice of hers. 

Internally, I gagged. "Ask on, MacDuff!" Now, I was faking the cheer. She frowned at my expression. "So... was I right? Was it was designed to eradicate a person's moral center?"

Claire looked hard at me. Apparently, in her experience high school English teachers didn't know a lot about 'brain washing.' "Yes. From what I can tell you were in stage three conditioning. And strangely you were not affected. What happened in there?" This was a command. 

"From what little I know about conditioning techniques, stage one would have been softening up the victim?" I said carefully.

She nodded. 

"Oh lets see...Joan of Arc, I was her. Over and over again." Nightmares from that were a given. 

"Joan of Arc.. I don't understand." She frowned. 

"Did Dar...I mean Agent Fawkes tell you about the story sims?" The man in question was across the room just out of earshot. Nonetheless, I had lowered my voice.

"Yes, but what does..." she stopped and looked closely at me. I was shaking. "What part of the saint's life did you relive 'over and over again?'" 

"The part where she's very melodramatically put to death." I replied grimly.

"Oh." Claire winced involuntarily. 

"Claire, could you do me a favor and not tell my father?" 

~~~~~~*

"Hey." The sometimes invisible secret agent leaned against the counter. His dark eyes regarded me with unbridled curiosity. 

"Hey, yourself." I replied as I hopped on the counter beside him. 

"What did you say to her? The Keep looked kinda shook up." He asked. 

"The truth. She asked questions-I answered." Darien just looked at me. I knew that he knew that there was more to it. He was also smart enough not to push it. "It's been a very strange three days." I really wanted to change the subject. 

"I'll bet." He smiled at me and I found myself smiling goofily at him. 

There was a swoosh and there was my father. His face was all red so I could only imagine the blow-out between himself and the Official. That changed when his eyes fell on me. The angry glint was replaced by a warm glow. "_A mhuirnín!, _want to go get something to eat?" 

"Yes, yes, a thousand times yes!" He chuckled at my enthusiasm before cornering the Keeper. An enthusiasm brought on by three very tiring days. I looked over at my father's partner who was silently mouthing '_A mhuirnín!' _to himself. 

"It means sweetheart in Irish Gaelic." I explained. 

"Hobbes isn't Irish." Said Fawkes: master of the obvious. 

"No, he's not. But, Mom was and I most certainly am." I leaned over and brushed my lips lightly over his warm cheek. Then I hopped down from the counter. 

"What was that for?" I nearly giggled at the look of utter surprise that swept his features. 

"For rescuing me from Mordor." 

"Mordor?" He blinked. 

"Like Chrysalis and Mordor aren't alike." I let out a tired laugh. His gaze if anything became more intense. 

__

"May the road rise to meet you. 

May the wind be always at your back. 

May the sun shine warm upon your face. 

And rains fall soft upon your fields. 

And until we meet again, 

May God hold you in the hollow of His hand." Softly I intoned the words of the old blessing. Darien smiled at me uncertainly. I'm not sure why, it's not like I go around unloading ancient Irish benedictions off on unsuspecting strangers. Maybe it's because Darien Fawkes seemed to need one, whether he knew it or not.

"Phoebe, are you ready?" My father called. 

He held out a gentlemanly arm. I took it and smiled at him. "I'm always ready for anything." I paused. "Except when I'm not. For instance I was not at all ready for the Matrix..." That started a conversation on the dubious nature of reality. 

My gran-da was wont to say 'all things work out for good in the end' and this time it truly did. It has always seemed that my life has always undulated between great pain and great joy. Something good would happen to me and then something bad would come along to balance it out. My life is pretty much a balance of extremes. A part of me wondered when the bomb would drop, thus returning the balance; but, the rest of me was content with the miracle. 


	6. Tag

Darien

I followed Hobbes and Phoebe down to the Keep, but stayed out of sight--like Hobbes had eyes for anyone but his daughter--and decided to stay outside the Keep as well. I mean, I figured he might want to be alone with her at some point, and having a partner hang around would just be annoying, right? I'd just stay long enough to make sure that bullet wound wasn't too bad and then take off. After staying up all night and fighting off quicksilver madness to boot, all I wanted to do was sleep. I slumped down against the wall to wait and had nearly nodded off by the time Claire came into the hall.

She stood there, not noticing me, arms crossed as if cold, and just stared into space. I leaned my head back against the wall and stared back up at her. "Hey, Keep, what's up?"

Claire glanced down, smiling in a confused way. "Besides the fact that Bobby's daughter is sitting on one of my lab tables in there? Not much."

"I never really thought of Hobbes as a family man." I let out a short laugh. "Things were weird enough around the Agency without that."

"Darien, I'm insulted." Claire grinned at me, but quickly sobered again. "I can't help wondering how things might change because of this. The Official hasn't said anything to me since the mission, but civilians really aren't supposed to know about the QS9300 project."

"There are others who do, and if the 'Fish doesn't like it, he can go complain to the other government small fry."

Claire studied me with an intensity reserved for her lab rats (of which, of course, I am one). "You like her?" she asked softly.

I could feel myself getting defensive, but it's pretty easy to disarm that kind of question. "She's a Hobbes. What's not to like?"

The Keeper shook her head reprovingly but let me change the subject. "Makes me wonder how much there is about Hobbes that we don't know."

I'd wondered before how much access the Keeper had to our records. "So what're you saying, you could get classified access?"

I swear, she blushed. To all appearances, this infatuation Hobbes has with her is a one-way thing, but sometimes I wonder. "No," she said, quite definitely. "It just makes me curious, that's all." She came and sat down next to me on the floor. "So how are you doing? It had to be tough to make it all night within a hair's-breadth of quicksilver madness."

"For once could we not talk about the gland?" I asked irritably, but I let her do a cursory examination, checking my pulse, my eyes, and my tattoo before pulling away. "She's interesting anyway, isn't she?"

"Who, the gland?" Claire smiled. "Sorry. Phoebe? She certainly is. What was all that about me being 'real this time'?"

I shrugged. "Didn't Hobbes mention the sim where you crashed the van with all of us inside it?"

Claire gasped. "How did they have me in a sim?"

For the first time that morning I bothered to wonder where the detail of the van, of my Keeper in that program had come from. It wasn't a comfortable thought. "I don't know."

"Ah, there you are." Eberts came striding down the corridor.

We both stood. "Did you manage to get into the Chrysalis database?" I asked him, remembering Phoebe's tampering.

The little man shook his head ruefully. "Only briefly, not long enough to retrieve anything of value." He glanced at me approvingly--that was a switch. "But the files Darien brought out, even though they were illegally seized, gave us quite a bit of information."

I grinned at him. "I was bored. They were right there, I couldn't leave them unguarded, could I?"

Eberts cleared his throat and continued. "The Official believes it will be possible to block any attempts to market this VR project now, at least legitimately."

"Any idea how they put a convincing simulacrum of me into a sim?" Claire asked. 

He looked startled. "They shouldn't have been able to. Not unless you know someone on the design team, or they have access to detailed information about you--at least, enough to make it convincing for Robert and Darien."

"Well, it's not like she had to do much in the sim," I offered. "Just pick us up in the van, drive real fast, and crash it."

Claire giggled. "That's enough to convince me their information is outdated."

Eberts shook his head, not convinced I guess, but said no more about it. "Any permanent damage?" he asked instead.

Claire shook her head. "Bobby was just grazed. Miss Hobbes looks like she'll be fine, though I still want to run a few tests." She eyed Eberts. "We only lost 3 wires and 2 syringes of counteragent. I'd say that's a pretty good swap."

"And that was quite a riot," I added, quite aware of the pun.

"Indeed," Eberts said. "Apparently Miss Hobbes' ruse was quite successful. Our informant tells us that Chrysalis has had to shut down operations in that building--due to damages and government involvement."

Hobbes came out of the Keep in time to hear that last statement. "Hmph. Good riddance," he said. It looked like he'd been crying. The Keeper noticed it too.

"How's Phoebe?" she asked, moving to stand next to Hobbes. 

He stared down for a moment, and when he lifted his eyes to hers, it was to whisper something so low that I felt sure Eberts and I were not meant to hear it. Eberts was studiously ignoring them both, but I couldn't help hearing from where I was.

"Fine, we're fine," Hobbes said.

"I'm glad," Claire whispered, putting her hand on his shoulder.

For a moment Hobbes didn't reply, but when he did his voice was as quiet and intense as I have ever heard it. "Claire, did you know about her? You've gotta tell me the truth."

There was a brief silence. "No, Bobby, I didn't know." Claire's voice almost broke, stifled by unspoken tears. "I didn't know."

I wondered if he could accept that now, now that he and Phoebe were together. 

"Okay," he said. "Okay, I believe you."

Time seemed to move again. Hobbes came over and reached out to give me a high-five. "Mission accomplished, eh partner?" He grinned at me, relief smoothing out some of the lines that years of fear had carved in his face.

Eberts interrupted, as usual. "Robert, the Official wishes to speak with you. Alone, I believe."

"Oh, man." Hobbes moaned quietly. "I suppose I should've expected that. Alright, _Eberts_, lead the way."

"And thence to the place of execution..." I called after him.

"Funny, Fawkes!"

Claire was staring at me, shaking her head. "I need to go finish checking Phoebe out," she told me. "Want to come in and take a chair? No going invisible to eavesdrop, though. We've wasted enough counteragent for one day."

I lifted my hands in mock surrender. "Fine, fine. Whatever you say, Keep." I followed her in.

*******

I have nightmares often, especially after using a lot of quicksilver. The Keeper tells me it's just psychological, but I think the gland likes tormenting me. At least that would explain why the nightmares usually come in quicksilver sight. The one I had the day after we rescued Phoebe Hobbes was no exception.

Now, why I should dream about quicksand is beyond me. Unless it was some kind of word association. I don't even remember the dream that clearly, but I guess the experience in VR was influencing it. I kept switching personas--from some country kid to a knight in armor, from Robin Hood to a guy rather like James Bond. There was something I had to do, something or someone I had to pull out of the quicksand, but I couldn't find them. People from the Agency, Claire and Hobbes and Eberts, even the Official, kept appearing at my side and offering advice which didn't work. Phoebe was there too, but never spoke, only looking at me as if she wished she could help. I tried to touch her once, but she disappeared before I could. I remember looking down at the quicksand and seeing a face vanishing into the depths. I'm not sure, but I think it was my own. When I looked up, Phoebe was staring at me, reaching to take the rope that was slipping out of my hands....

I think what I woke to is real: my neat-to-a-fault apartment, the sweat-soaked sheets, the late afternoon light coming in my window. It makes more sense than the dream world. But the quote that I found in my head when I woke in VR the first time was still there when I woke this time. "I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow./ I feel my fate in what I cannot fear./ I learn by going where I have to go." Maybe I've "wakened to sleep," and this ordinary life is the nightmare. In a way that would be kind of comforting, but--I hope not. Hobbes deserves some happiness in his life. If it is, I think maybe I'd rather go on dreaming.

And if the rest of that quote is true, then I should be learning something even from going quicksilver mad. All I've learned from that is that I can't avoid putting my friends in danger. And this is just one more person to worry about. Hobbes' daughter. Maybe he'll get smart and keep her away from the Agency. Or maybe not. I just hope to God I never find my hands around her throat.

Of course, if I'm really so worried about her being close to us, then why in my quicksilver dream was she the only one in color?


End file.
